Closer
by Silver Miko
Summary: AxM semidark onshot It was their secret, she was his punisher and his salvation and she was addicted to him, always waiting, always the one to reach out....


Author's Notes: It's late, I'm bored, I read too much crap, stuff happens. Dark stuff, well semi-dark. I have Nine Inch Nails stuck in my head.

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Closer

by Silver Miko

_ you can have my isolation, you can have the hate that it brings_

_you can have my absence of faith, you can have my everything_

The feel of the fabric beneath her was ever-so familiar, the black material rippling against her pale back. It was not rough fabric, but soft. Her back was so familiar with said fabric as she buried her head further into the pillow, arching her neck. It was a warm night, not too stifling, but she could drops of sweat forming on her forehead, her arms, her back, her legs...both hers and man whose gloriously narrow hips her legs were wrapped around.

'It's always like this.' she thought, her eyebrow furrowing as warm lips were content to taste the skin of her neck, biting.

It being her ongoing and tumultuous trysts with _him_, Shinomori Aoshi.

She knew it was probably wrong. He was older than her, he was a loner who believed in nothing, he was dark and brooding...and yet when they were like this, bodies writhing and her nails digging into his back, he was hers. She was his. She remembered how it started. She had followed him out of town one night, into the forest. He had been so quiet, so pitifully withdrawn. And so down the dirt path she quietly crept, wearing a simple lavender yukata, and followed him to where no one else would reach them, where she supposed he had gone to for solitude.

She never expected he'd known she had followed, but when she thought about it, it wasn't that surprising. Her Okashira was so skilled and talented. She never expected the moonlight to cast such eerie shadows about his trenchcoat covered and black clad frame as he approached her, towering over her. Or the glaring ice in his eyes.

"Why are you here, Misao?" he asked, his voice bland.

"I...I was worried about you, Aoshi-sama." she replied, voice shaky. Something was different that night, and she would soon know.

She could never exactly remember the words, how much time passed, but oh, she remembered when he touched her for the first time that night. The things he did, that she let him do. She let him desecrate her, complicate her. He, a broken man trying to regain his soul. As if she was the one thing that could help him that worked for him, to help him get away from himself. And so he took her there, having removed his trench coat and laying it roughly on the forest floor as he claimed her innocence with a groan. He took her with little gentleness...and she didn't care. She dug her nails into his back and he seemed to relish in the pain. It figured, her darling Aoshi-sama was a masochist.

To him, his whole existence was flawted, and being with her...like this, it seemed in his way brought him closer to a higher level. It was flattering, maddening, exciting.

She half-expected when it was over, when he was holding her loosely in his arms, that he would murmur to her 'this was a mistake' or 'this will never happen again'. She did not expect his actual words.

"Misao...tell no one of what has now occured between us. This is our secret."

She weakly nodded, feeling her eyelids droop.

That had been the beginning of it, of their fevered meetings. She would give him pain and pleasure, he would give it in return. He was the masochist to her inner sadist, he looked to her to punish him in a way for his sins. She was his salvation. He gaver her his lonliness and let her take hold of his hate, that he believed his nothing- he gave her all he had so she could tear down his reasoning as he took her over and over, wanting her to make him something more perfect, something else than what he was.

He was such a tortured man, and she...she was always the one who waited for him. It was always he who came to her, never her to him. And so she spent much of her time seeking him out for conversation. She was always the one to reach out to him, he only came to her when he needed her. Such give and take...it was probably not a healthy thing...but it was the imperfection of it all, the flaws. It was addicting.

"Aoshi...sama..." she moaned, arching her back as he moved over her. She knew she was drawing blood from her nails digging into his back, he probably had many claw marks from her. Not that he cared, he loved the pain. She loved inflicting it, as long as both got pleasure from it.

It was always dizzying, it always left her feeling hazy. She wondered how long it would last, how long these secret sessions would continue before someone found out or he tired of her. Would he tire of her? Would she grow sick of waiting for him? She couldn't and didn't want to think of it anymore. All she wanted to contemplate was Aoshi-sama in her arms, needing her more than anything else.

Bring him closer. To her, to sanity, to redemption, to ecstasy.

And soon enough it was over, he collapsed beside her and held her in his arms, breathing harsh. His hands stroked her hair as she lay her head on his chest, sighing. Perhaps...they were both flawed, and that was why they were bound to each other in their passion.

_my whole existence is flawed_

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Miko solely blames Trent Reznor for this. And my sleepiness/boredom.


End file.
